Car Crash
by moms5thchild
Summary: When a side trip takes an unexpected twist, Lieutenant Fisk shows what being in charge means.


This is another story with aspects of being a father as a theme. Sometimes, it isn't blood that makes a man act like a father, but the way he takes care of the people he is in charge of.

Thanks to my beta reader for her input. I'm going to have to give her writing credit for the help and guidance she gives me

PLease read and review... I can't believe how happy I get when someone comments on my stories. You m ake my day when you do. Besides, I am a poor, insecure writer... I love having my ego boosted.

**The Car Crash**

It was the part of the job Gary Fisk hated the most. Paperwork; the one constant the powers that be never mention in their recruitment drives. _Join the New York City Police Department and help in the slaughter of hundreds of helpless trees. Learn to shoot straight, to drive fast and fill out forms in triplicate, please._

In the robbery/homicide department of the Eighth Precinct there was the addition of stiff heavy paper for documents that needed to be transcribed into Braille for the NYPD's most unexpected homicide detective. Goody goody, even more paper work. _At least I can delegate the transcription._

Gary Fisk had been drowning in paper all morning so he was taking a break from his office and sharing a coffee with Jim Dunbar and Karen Daniels.

"Do you ever miss working the streets at all?" Karen groaned as she signed her reports and stuffed them in their designated file folder.

"Sometimes," Fisk rolled his eyes, "like I miss haemorrhoids."

"You got a way with words, boss." Jim laughed.

"Never joke about haemorrhoids to a pregnant woman," Karen moaned. "When they talk about the glow of pregnancy, it's simply sweat from running to the toilet every five minutes."

"Yeah, don't have to tell me, I've got three kids." Fisk pulled out his wallet and extracted a picture of his family. As he handing the photo to Karen he began talking. "David is the oldest, he's sixteen and the twins, Joan and Jane are twelve."

"Nice, normal names," Jim sighed, "not like some people who want to give their children new age catchy names."

Karen harrumphed, "What is wrong with Liam for a boy or Mariska for a girl."

"You mean William or Mary, don't you?"

"Play nice, children," the boss finished his coffee and headed back to his desk to answer his phone. The one sided conversation lasted less than a minute and Fisk called to his detectives. "You both live in DUMBO, don't you."

"Same building," Jim answered quickly.

"Car accident on the Manhattan Bridge, sounds like a bad one," Fisk quirked a quick smile. "Did Hank drive you in today?"

"Nyah, we took the subway… besides, its noon, there's a good chance it might  
be cleared up by five."

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_"Car horns… damn it, who was leaning on their horn?"_

It wasn't often Tom Selway woke up so hung over he didn't remember where he was. He was in a car, because the seat belt was cutting into his right shoulder. He must have pulled over to the side of the road to sleep off the booze, but he didn't get into his car after the second beer. _Wait, I'm not driving, seatbelt is wrong...I'm on the passenger side._ The sound of car horns and the smell of gasoline told him he was near a street or a gas station. A sharp, unexpected crash pushed Tom hard into his seat belt.

"God damn," he screeched as his eyes shot open. The front end of the car was wedged under a huge, black Hummer; its tail pipe still shooting out exhaust into the air around him. "Marty," Tom turned his head slowly to the left to see his partner, Marty Russo, suspended by his seat belt over the steering wheel. His right wrist was bent back at a sickening angle against the horn button. Painfully, Tom reached over and pulled Marty's hand away from the horn and the noise inside the car lessened. Unfortunately, the cacophony of car horns outside stayed the same.

_So this is what it feels like to be in a car accident._ Tom tried to focus his eyes on his feet. Yep, his shoes were off. From when he was in uniform Tom was always amazed that a person's shoes would go flying off from the force of the impact of a bad accident. Guess that meant he was in a bad accident. _God, I'm tired. _As Tom Selway slipped into unconsciousness he was glad he put on new socks this morning.

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Fisk got up to grab another cup of coffee. Selway and Russo weren't back yet. They had to interview several students at a Brooklyn yeshiva about the Friday night murder of one of their fellow students in Little Italy. An Orthodox Jewish kid should never have been that far from home on the Sabbath. They had probably been caught another inconsistency and were being especially careful today. Tom and Marty were good, by the book, detectives and knew when to push and when to hold off. In homicide, Jim and Karen were good with kids and women. Tom and Marty were good with teens and old people. All of his homicide detectives were especially good at kicking ass when it needed to be done and Gary Fisk wanted to keep each and every one of them.

"Hey, Boss," Karen called, "Janice Russo called. She's about to get swamped by that car accident on the Manhattan Bridge and wants Marty to pick up the kids. Neither he nor Tom are answering their cells. You got a contact for them?"

"If those two are taking a long lunch they're gonna find out Brooklyn isn't big enough that I can't find them. They are supposed to be interviewing students at Yeshivas Novominsk so they probably think they have an excuse to turn their cells off. Damn, call the school and see if they're finished."

Fisk sipped his coffee as he walked toward his office, but stopped when he saw Karen's hand waving madly for him to take the phone from her.

He put down his coffee when he took the receiver, "Yes?"

"Lieutenant Fisk, this is Miriam Freedman from Yeshivas Novominsk. Your detectives left at 11:00 this morning and said they would he back by 12:30. They were very respectful and the Rabbi was going to call and tell you as much, but they are late now and that isn't respectful. I wish you could tell me when to expect them."

"No, you've been more than helpful, Mrs. Freedman, when I find my detectives I'll make sure they call you. Good bye now." Fisk handed the phone back to Karen. "It's already two o'clock. Keep trying to get hold of those knuckleheads and get back to me in fifteen minutes if you can't. I am now officially pissed off." With that he turned on his heel and marched into his office. His coffee was still sitting on the corner of Karen's desk, but she wasn't about to call him back. She liked her head.

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Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Wha…" Russo hurt all over.

"Wake up, man, get outta da car."

_Oh, __God my wrist hurts_. Opening his eyes, Marty saw it bent way back and the skin was black, purple and puffy. When he tried to sit up his shoulder screamed in protest. Turning his head to the right Marty realized Tom was passed out beside him.

"Tom?"

"Hey, man," the fear-crazed man that pounded on the window had blood pouring from his nose. "You gotta get outta da car, man. Dere's gas all ovah da place. We gotta get offa dis bridge." With that the mediocre Samaritan turned and left; his good deed for the day done.

Marty turned to Tom and reached over his body to use his undamaged left arm to check his friend. He poked Selway's shoulder, but Tom never woke up.

"Shit," Marty pulled in his arm and felt around for his cell phone. It was in his inside jacket pocket and Marty made sure he had it securely in his hand before he tried to get it out. He let the hand with the phone fall to his lap so there would be more stability, flipped it open and turned it on. There were four missed messages. _Later, I'll check them later_, Marty thought as he hit the speed dial.

"Eighth Precinct, Dunbar," came out of the phone. Just his luck, he got Super Jim. "Eighth Precinct," came out a little more brusquely.

"Jim, we've had an accident." _God_, Marty thought, _I sound pathetic_

"Marty?"

"Yeah, got it on one, hot shot detective. We're in the middle of an accident on a bridge, Tom's out cold, but I think I hear sirens."

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"Marty? Marty!" Jim jumped backwards, nearly dumping his chair on top of his guide dog, Hank. "Marty, hold on."

"If that's Russo with some kind of bullshit excuse for not being in Brooklyn," Fisk marched out of his office ready to make heads roll, but the sight of Jim leaning at his desk trying to write down details stopped him.

"Boss, pick up the phone," Dunbar spat out.

"Boss, are your there?" the hoarse, pained voice of Russo came out of the headset.

"Where the hell are you?" Fisk sounded more like an angry parent than a harried superior.

"Boss… a car, I think it's a Hummer, we're under a Hummer."

"Stay with me Russo," Fisk brought his voice down. He could see Dunbar out of the corner of his eye grab his dog and head off to the elevator. "Marty, talk to me, tell me what is going on out there?"

"My wrist is busted, man, is it ever busted." Fisk heard a quick shuddering breath, "I can't get the seat belt undone. Damn, Tom's out cold."

"Don't talk Marty, but don't hang up." Fisk saw the elevator open up and Joe Francks from traffic rush in with Dunbar. "Listen, I'm handing you back to Jim."

"Do you have to?" The whine from the headset told Fisk that Russo wasn't completely out of it.

"Wait until I find out why you were on the Manhattan Bridge when you were supposed to stay in Brooklyn and get your job done. There is gonna be more than a busted wrist to worry about."

"Are we on the Manhattan Bridge? Damn, that sucks," was the last thing he heard from Russo as he put the phone in Dunbar's hand.

Turning to Francks, Fisk started shooting questions with machine gun rapidity. "The accident on the Manhattan Bridge, what do you know about it? Which level of the bridge is this accident on? How long has this been going on? What is the god damn hold up getting the injured off that damn bridge?"

"One at a time, Gary," the uniformed sergeant stopped the lieutenant. "According to this printout between noon and 12:15 an SUV had a blow out heading to Brooklyn. It crossed two lanes of traffic and set off a chain reaction that involves at least five other vehicles. Traffic is jammed up on the Manhattan side of the bridge and the fire department and EMTs are approaching from the Brooklyn side. It's still an ungodly mess and from the sounds of it this is going to snarl traffic for hours."

"Looks like Selway and Russo are in the middle of it." Fisk looked at the traffic patrol sergeant, "When can I expect to hear something about people getting off the bridge?"

"I'll make sure you get word as soon as I do, and they'll probably be taken to King's County Hospital. Traffic is being diverted to the Brooklyn and Williamsburg Bridges and the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel but it is going to be a mess trying to get to them any time soon." Francks put his hand on Fisk's shoulder, "Gary, you are going to have to sit tight for now."

"Yeah," Fisk pivoted on his heel and was heading back to Dunbar, "Jim, how's Marty doing?"

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"They're coming, Dunbar," Marty said as he watched firemen starting to pry open doors on the Hummer and then one of them came up and tried to force the door of the squad car open. Not wanting to sit idle Marty cradled his right wrist to his chest and pushed with his shoulder.

"Get away from the door, sir," his rescuer called to Marty. "I have to pry the door open."

"Hurry up," Marty shot back, "my partner is unconscious."

The fireman leaned down and looked into the car, "Well, well, well… my old friend Marty Russo. I got a gurney right here, waiting for you after I finish rescuing you."

"Dean Bostic," Marty shook his head in disgust. Then he remembered the phone in his hand and handed it to the fire fighter, "it's for you."

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Francks pulled some strings, called in favours and managed to get Fisk a ride in a traffic copter. The Lieutenant hooked up with Police Captain Jo Van Damme and was rushed straight to the trauma department of King's County Hospital. Nine people were injured by that five car pile up, two were killed. Only the fact that Tom and Marty were in the second last car had been securely belted in and the unmarked car had a re-enforced frame and chassis saved them from more serious injury.

Fisk flashed his shield as he strode past the triage desk into the contained chaos of the trauma bays.

"Sir," a nurse ran to Fisk, "you can't come back here."

Fisk kept moving, his head swivelling right to left, "I'm looking for Detectives Selway and Russo."

The harried nurse stopped and put her hands on her hips. "Sir, I will call security and have you removed."

"Boss," Russo stuck his head out from the cubicle on the right.

Fisk walked into the curtained-off space. Marty had two black eyes from impact with the car's air bag. He was now wearing a too-small hospital gown and being examined by a doctor in scrubs. The lieutenant didn't worry about the witness present. He kept his voice calm and deadly. "What in God's name were you too doing in Manhattan when you were supposed to be in Brooklyn interviewing students?"

"But…"

"You know you have probably exhausted any good will we might have had at the yeshiva or any of the student's families."

"But…"

"And that doesn't begin to take in the fact that a new, unmarked car has had to be written off."

"But…"

"But what, Russo, I am waiting for an explanation."

"But it was lunch."

Fisk rolled his eyes and grabbed the bridge of his nose but it didn't stop the headache. "You mean there are no restaurants, diners and fast food joints in Brooklyn?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Marty," Fisk finally yelled, "are you completely out of your mind?"

Russo gulped, "I know it doesn't look good right this minute."

"Ya' think?"

"But we had time to eat where we wanted," Marty's voice petered out. What wouldn't have mattered any other day was now just the start of a catastrophe that kept getting bigger and bigger.

"Where the hell is Selway?" Fisk started pacing the cubicle, "I want your reports on my desk ASAP and the two of you will be filling out paperwork for the entire six weeks you have a cast on that hand."

"Sir," the doctor finally spoke up, "I'm afraid you will have to wait a while for those forms. Detective Russo is going to need surgery and after that an external frame for quite some time. Eight weeks is the absolute minimum time this hand will be out of commission."

Fisk shoulders sagged with this news. "Doctor, do you have any idea of the condition of Lieutenant Selway?"

"I wasn't his physician, but I believe your man is suffering from at least a concussion. Talk to Dr. Haneff, but if he were my patient I'd order x-rays, a cat scan and an EEG. As for now I have to make arrangements for Detective Russo's surgery."

Two heads swivelled to follow the doctor as he left the cubicle. When Fisk looked back at Russo; all Marty could do was shrug.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with half my homicide department out on medical."

"Get Dunbar a red cape and boots?'

Fisk leaned back against the gurney Marty was sitting on. "I'll get One PP to send me some bodies. Do you know how much extra paperwork this is gonna generate? Don't ever do this again. I'd kill you myself, except that would only mean MORE paperwork!"

Russo smiled at the boss, "hey, nice to know you care."

Fin


End file.
